


The Dog Park

by Lochinvar



Series: Talismen [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adoption, Anniversary, BAMF Dean Winchester, BAMF Sam Winchester, Boys In Love, Canon-Typical Violence, Cartels, Case Fic, Dog Cops, Dog Fighting, Dogs, Domestic Fluff, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, F/M, Family Fluff, Feel-good, Fluff and Humor, Foster Care, Happy Ending, Healing, Hunted Vampires, Knives, Law Enforcement, M/M, Military Working Dogs, No Angst, No Porn, No Smut, POV Outsider, Quakers, Sam loves dogs, Sentient Impala (Supernatural), Service Dogs, Sex mentioned, Slice of Life, Soulmates, Talismen, Telekinesis, Werewolves, implicit sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 13:29:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17705138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lochinvar/pseuds/Lochinvar
Summary: Dean and Sam are celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary. A chance meeting at a dog park changes their lives.





	1. Dog Days

**Author's Note:**

> Rated as Teen and Up for mentions of off-screen violences and hints of fun times
> 
> I have worked with Quaker organizations, wildlife rehabilitators, and animal rescue groups, but please forgive any technical mistakes. No disrespect intended. And professionals can and do disagree.
> 
> This story reflects my interest in Talismen, the people who know about Hunters, Men of Letters, and the Supernatural, and support their work from the sidelines. 
> 
> I own nothing; rely on the talent and kindness of strangers. 
> 
> No Beta; all mistakes are mine to claim and bear.
> 
> Kudos and comments and bookmarks much appreciated - thank you.

The Winchester brothers had made a habit of stopping in Denver on road trips. One visit fell on a wedding anniversary, so they each got to choose their favorite thing to do.

Changed their lives.

\-----

For Dean, his Funday pick was the _Grizzly Rose,_ one of the top country music dance clubs in the U. S. of A., with headliners from across the genres. Great beer, great food. 2,500 square-foot floating hardwood dance floor. Friendly folks. Like one of Dean’s favorite Hunter roadhouses, except no knife fights in the parking lot or accidental gunshot wounds. No need to keep a flask of holy water in a hip pocket.

Since strippers were not part of the package, Sam agreed.  
  
An excuse for Sammy and Dean to dress up a little. Fancy custom-fit cow leather boots, Sam’s anniversary gift to them both. Sigils for love and safety blind-embossed into the designs. Fitted jeans, too tight for hunting. Brand-new Western-style shirts with piping and snaps and bold colors, as pretty as a Colorado sunset.

Sam clipped the tag off of Dean’s collar with his Bowie knife before they left the hotel room with the pillow top mattress and unlimited hot water.

Dean made Sam take a swing dance lesson with him before the main event, and tipsy Sammy jigged around the floor with his arms around his De. No one seemed to mind, and frankly, who was gonna mess with two men who looked like they spent time on the Broncos’ roster and still visited the weight room on a regular basis

Inevitably, a couple of urban cowgirls in high heels tapped them on their shoulders. Dean found himself with a lapful of warm, cozy blonde, an emergency room nurse, who was tall enough to look him in the eye when they two-stepped. Sam was snagged by her best friend, a redhead from Kentucky who had played semi-pro basketball and reveled in being shorter than the tall hottie with the shoulder-length hair and fox eyes, painted in amber and turquoise and moss.

The couples ate and drank and danced until closing. The girls looked hopeful, but then they looked again at the matching silver on the men’s ring fingers. They collected their goodnight kisses in the parking lot and waved as the Impala drove away. And sighed in tandem.

Nice view of the Front Range from the big bed in the evening. Room service respected the Do-Not-Disturb sign on the door, which earned them an extra tip and a special thank-you left with the manager at the front desk.

\-----

Sam’s choice was a place to play with dogs. Thought about visiting an animal shelter, but they both knew he would want to steal every pup and truck them back to Lebanon.

The first time Sam brought up going to a dog park, Dean was ready with Big-Brother sarcasm, but he stopped mid-sentence. Bent over the work table in their hotel room where Sam was checking on a new case and kissed him on the cheek. Old married couple. Content. First time in his life, maybe, he thought, pausing before he yapped and maybe hurt Sam’s feelings. Guess the rings did make a difference.

[See [His Better Half](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15229770) for more about the wedding rings' magic.]

Huh.

“Anything you want, Sammy.”

\-----

Turned out Denver had several first-class dog parks with trails, access to lakes, and agility equipment set up to test a senior rescue’s Olympic potential.

Sitting on an old wooden bench under an ancient silver maple, Dean Winchester watched Sammy trace cloverleafs as he ran across a broad, well-trodden lawn in a west suburban canine playground. He was accompanied by a deliriously happy pack of dogs, racing in front of him and doubling back, the smaller, older, fatter ones trailing behind.

Sam loved to run. Dean loved to watch. His boy with the long legs and killer dimples. The dogs adored him, as did the soccer moms and single dads and divorcees and the kids.

“That tall dude, he’s like the Pied Piper,” said the pleasant-looking guy in a dark green windbreaker who sat himself next to Dean. Looked fit. Tall. Blond, with what Dean assumed was a deep, ski-season tan. Dark brown eyes. Big smile.

The guy’s name was Henry. Henry Bennett. He was an accountant during the day, but dogs were his passion. Rescued, fostered, volunteered, donated, fund-raised, served on boards.

He discreetly checked the Hunter out. Dean didn’t know that dog parks had devolved into meat markets.

“My dude,” said Dean. He made a point of flashing his left hand. The thick silver ring, etched with Enochian symbols, got the message across.

“Five years,” he said. “In town to celebrate, then back to Kansas.”

Henry shrugged, and the two men settled into an easy companionship. The accountant gestured at his tripod, Trio, a three-legged red setter-mix rescue, who galloped beside Sammy without missing a beat. When Trio’s former family found out he was sick, they dumped the confused pet at a high-kill shelter in a small town in Wyoming. Henry got a call, drove 150 miles, and scooped the dog up. Trio survived bone cancer due to the world-class expertise of the veterinary school up in Ft. Collins. Flourished ever since.

Best dog ever, said Henry.

The guy went up about 100 points in Dean’s estimation.

\-----

The tree and its bench were on a rise, the ideal spot to view most of the park. Rolling lawns and clumps of trees and bushes. It had been a piece of contested open space property that was claimed by a well-funded nonprofit, blessed with a committed duo of tireless, dog-loving lawyers at the helm.  They could have successfully negotiated a treaty with the North Koreans after what they went through with the local city council and neighborhood associations.

Now the land was theirs: a fifty-year lease for a dollar a year.

They raised the money to fence the site, install lights, and build a restroom for the humans. Sold branded dog coats and leashes, bottled water, and packaged dog and human snacks to fund regular maintenance. Members paid $20 for an annual membership and owed ten hours a year volunteering for clean-up. Guests, like Sam and Dean, paid $5.00 a visit and had to show that their dogs were current with their vaccinations.

Except the Winchesters had no dog.

\-----

A dog, thought Dean, as he watched Sam chasing the lead dog, a retired greyhound, at full speed, looking much like the carefree boy he knew in the day.

\-----

Reminded Dean of visits to police stations where the brothers would meet up with K-9 officers and their human leash holders, aka treat dispensers. Sam would spend time hanging out with the dogs and asking the handlers questions.

Sam figured it out first. The four-legged cops could sense supernatural activity, often to the confusion of their two-legged partners and the enlightenment of the Winchesters while on a case.

“Coop kept barking at that empty garage, but there was nothing in it.”

_Except an angry ghost, playing havoc with the family who lived in the house next door. It was how Dean and Sam were clued in about Great-Grandpa’s ashes and false teeth being kept in an ancient coffee can._

“We were checking out a report of a drug den out in the county in a barn on a foreclosed farm. Brought Bear, our best search dog, a beagle, to the property. Man, can’t wear that puppy out; can work two shifts and beg for more. This time, she took one big whiff and ran back to town, ten miles away. Seriously. We’ll return with back-up tomorrow.”

_But the brothers returned that night and finished off a nasty nest of vamps. Set fire to the place. Had to catch a couple of the fangs as they fled the flames. Killed them and threw the bodies back into the inferno. (Sam did a great job of amping up the accelerants to mimic a chemical fire and reducing the corpses to charcoal briquets.) Cops chalked it up to a meth lab explosion. Bear the beagle got a medal and a thick steak, cooked medium rare and chopped up._

The police canines spent every day training and working with their best friends, which meant being rewarded with snacks or their favorite chew toy or a romp while they searched for guns or drugs or contraband. Or hunted the scent of a toddler off of an unwashed shirt, a kid who the cops and family hoped and prayed had wandered away on their own and who they will find dirty, scratched up, hungry, cold, but unharmed, in a ravine in the forest preserve next to the railroad tracks.

Good dog.

But Dean and Sam knew first hand that sometimes there were no happy endings. And the cadaver dogs would be brought in for a different kind of hunt.

Then there were “real” police dogs (what Dean called them in his mind), which usually meant the elite German Shepherds and Belgian Malinois. Intelligent, strong, fearless, love to work, love the hunt for its own sake. Prey driven. Laser focus. Not afraid to take a perp down or dive into gunfire to protect their human partner.

A few of the Hunters had pet dogs, mostly smaller breeds to keep them company in their motels at night. Walking a dog, playing fetch in the parking lot, and having a companion on long road trips was the closest to a normal family life many of those men and women would have.

By the way, it was well-known in Supernatural circles that Chuck Himself would not help the idjit who tried to hurt a Hunter’s dog. But common sense is a rare virtue among monsters and criminals.

Once upon a time a low-level demon thought it was a bright idea to kidnap an elderly Jack Russell Terrier/dachshund mix-up named Blade and blackmail the feisty canine’s human daddy into obeying the demon’s bidding.

Blade’s devoted Hunter, an old friend of Bobby and Rufus named Billy Jo, ex-Army grunt, the sweetest man they knew, responded by blowing up said demon’s corner of Hell with a pallet of metaphysically tuned dynamite and single-handedly gutting a platoon of damned souls. Just a shot across the bow.

An exasperated Crowley told Billy Jo to come and take his dog back. Not worth the trouble. The demon with the bright idea was disciplined by a pair of the King of Hell’s favorite hounds, twin sisters Violet and Lily.

A few Hunters, the ones who came to the monster ball with dog-handling skills, had trained some of their companions to actively participate in their family’s business. Canids with the genes for the Supernatural fight, custom-bred or picked off of death row from a local shelter.

Bobby always had junkyard mutts at his place. Big, old, ugly, smelly rescues that no one else wanted. Yelled at them, called them names. The dogs would kill him with kisses if given the chance. Hard to explain to a 150-pound mastiff hybrid that it ain’t a lap dog.

When they were growing up, Sammy would spend hours with Singer’s Pack, teaching them tricks. Sometimes Dean and Bobby would find the young Hunter tuckered out after a long day of drills and sparring. He would be curled around a furry beast, the size of which could give Wendigos pause.

Goes without saying, any one of Bobby’s BFFs would have taken a bullet for the humans they loved.

A dog, Dean thought. It wasn’t impossible anymore. Their lives were more settled. Earlier, Dean had watched his brother cuddle a fuzz bomb of a puppy under its pet mom’s watchful eye. Held it like a baby and kissed the top of its nose. The baby dog returned the favor.

Dean, Sword of Michael, the Scourge of Hell, was doomed.


	2. How Much is That Doggie In the Window?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean makes his big decision.

Dean decided Henry was the man who could help.

“Here’s the deal, said Dean, improvising as he talked. “My husband Sam and I work for an international agency that goes after bad guys. On the road a lot but have a place in Kansas. Often undercover and in situations where we sometimes have to wait days or weeks between cases. You can see that my Sammy loves dogs. And a well-trained dog could help. The thing is, some of our work can be dangerous.

“So, we are cutting down on the hands-on work. More like supervisors for the people in the field. Sam’s Encyclopedia Guy, actually, think he memorized it in grade school, and I’m not too shabby when it comes to strategy and tactics.  
  
“But, when called upon, we might be pulled back into the game on an hour’s notice.

“I hate to put an innocent animal in harm’s way, but there are things we can do to protect them. Bullet-proof vests and doggie gas masks, for example.

_And spells, blessings, wardings, and tattooed sigils on skin and Enochian carved into bone._

“We have a neighbor, Harry Corbin, who we could leave the dog with, of course. Reliable and competent. He has a nice property down the road from us and is great with animals.”

(Harry was the mysterious herbalist and Adept who lived where the unpaved trail to the Bunker snaked next to his small farm and t-boned the country highway that ran in front of his property. To the unsuspecting passerby, the road to one of the most important warehouses of Supernatural lore on the planet looked like an ill-kept driveway or a dead end to a construction site on the farm.

Without discussion, Harry volunteered himself as the official lookout and early warning station for the Bunker, which still needed to maintain some anonymity. Took in packages and screened mystery visitors.

Harry was wheelchair-bound, but Dean and Sam shared suspicions that his powers were more than those of a well-educated master gardener who compounded benign herbal remedies. He also conjured up and sold awesome preserves and baked goods in his little gift store and café. His strawberry jam slathered on rosemary shortbread with clotted cream was Heavenly; Castiel agreed after one bite.

[For more about Harry, see [Hobo and Karma](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497836/chapters/30954900)]

“Also, an uncle in South Dakota; he practically runs a one-man rescue mission and nursing home for old, junkyard dogs.”

“My Sammy loves to run, you can see. Very affectionate guy. A sweetie-pie. Really smart, too.”

Dean enjoyed calling one of the deadliest Hunters on the continent, who had successfully beaten down Satan Himself to save the world, a “sweetie-pie”. Although he had married his true love and soulmate for eternity, he still reserved the right to maintain his annoying older brother status.

Dean gestured at the black Impala dozing in the sun in the nearby parking lot.

“And our dog would go first class in my Baby.”

Several times Sam had left catalogs of overpriced, dog-friendly accessories on the map table, with pages devoted to doggie beds, doggie toys, and customized doggie t-shirts and bowls and leashes.

To be fair, some of those catalogs targeted actual hunters, not just yuppies looking for matching “his and her and doggie” sweaters. Dean remembered seeing tarps to protect car upholstery and truck beds from muddy paws. So, maybe, Baby wouldn’t mind so much having canvas covers to keep her lovely leather clean.

Yeah, guess the rings did make a difference.

Henry pondered, squinting at Sam and the murmuration of the pack that swarmed around him. Some of the dogs had dropped out to return to their owners, tails wagging, clearly saying, “Look what I did, Mom, Dad!” Left with Sam were the dogs with the blood of sight hounds in their pedigrees, the ones whose ancestors were bred to chase and take down wild dogs and lions under the African sun.

Henry’s tripod Trio was keeping up. He would sleep well tonight.

“What kind of danger? How often is it really bad?” asked Henry.

“Well, mostly we do research in libraries and police stations, interview victims and witnesses, interrogate suspects. Collect forensic evidence at crime scenes. Stakeouts and undercover assignments.

“And, sometimes we have to deal with guns and knives and explosives. Chemical attacks. Hand-to-hand combat. Think trained cartel assassins on steroids and five kinds of crazy juice. Sometimes, we get hurt. Sometimes, people die.

“A few times, the bad guys came to where we live. But not for a long time.”

Dean looked down and shook his head, remembering. Not the faithful gardener’s fault; each time the intruders had enough mojo to get around Harry and the best warding in the hemisphere. Has not happened for many years.

Dean continued, responding to Henry’s questions.

“How often are we gone for work? Well, day trips, either me or Sammy, or both, maybe once a week.” _Salt-and-burns in the Heartland, mostly._ _Or reports that actually turn out to be bear attacks, bad dreams, or old-fashioned human serial killers._

“Road trips last more than a couple of days? Outside Kansas and Nebraska? Once a month, I think, and once a year, maybe, we’re after a Big Bad _(or the End of the World, Again),_ which might mean a month on the road.”

Henry was silent, mentally flipping through his inventory of dogs that needed forever homes. The ones harder to place, big hearts but bearing the scars of war. Unlike some folks involved in animal rescue, he would rather place a dog in a less than perfect situation than have to warehouse the animal, albeit safely, for its remaining years.

Then, he smiled.

“Could you make a place for a mellow dog who loves to run and hang out with people, loves long rides in the car, loves to couch-surf, watch movies, and snack on corn chips, would keep your feet warm at night? Loyal and brave. Likes dogs and children and thinks it is his job to protect kittens and baby birds? Not a barker. But…big. Like really big.

“The one I’m thinking of has an on-and-off switch, full tilt or fuzzy-wuzzy. Mostly the latter.

“He was the result of a genetics experiment, combining several bloodlines for what the kennel owners thought would be ideal guard dog characteristics for their private security clients. He was well-treated by the breeders but turned out that he wasn’t right for the job they had for him, and his size scared off families looking for a house pet.

“They surrendered him to one of my rescue groups rather than put him down. So yeah, they shouldn’t have been bringing vulnerable, living beings into the world to satisfy their curiosity and checkbooks. But, to their credit, they could have culled him as some security organizations that breed and train dogs do. Kill what they consider their mistakes. So, at the end of the day, I was grateful.”

Henry paused. He obviously was feeling conflicted. Any dog adopted out to law enforcement and military faced the same issues as did those that ended up in the role of private guard dogs. Given this pup’s non-adoption history, the accountant would rather that a big dog, bred to be hard-working, would get to be wanted and stay busy.

“As far as his being a Roman war dog out of some cheesy “sword and sandal” movie, nope, but if he found himself in a dangerous situation, he could be intimidating. His instinct is to guard his family and scare off a potential predator, up to and including wolves and big cat predators, but, as a last resort, he will fight, I think. I would hope it only would be a last resort.”

Dean nodded. Sounded like the dog-loving accountant could read Dean’s mind.

“Let me text some people,” said Henry. “He’s being fostered on a small ranchette not far from here in Jefferson County in the foothills. Nice Quaker family. Eric and Miriam Knight. They take in all kinds of strays.”

“And of course,” the accountant added, almost as an afterthought. “You have a vet close by where you live? And character references? And there will be an adoption fee. And I will need to interview you both.”

Sam had warned Dean a while back that adopting a pet these days could involve the same amount of paperwork and scrutiny as if you were adopting a child.

So, Dean handed over his driver’s license with his real information. Made life easier not having to remember a shoebox’s-worth of lies.

(At this time in their lives, the Winchesters no longer had to worry about old aliases coming back to bite them (no pun intended), thanks to the combined handiwork of Ash, Charlie, and Frank. Those serial killer brothers that haunted the FBI’s files were long gone. Now, when on a case, Dean and Sam had earned the legitimate support of a bevy of law enforcement and military officials, who had come to learn about the Supernatural world the hard way and appreciated what the brothers and their fellow Hunters could do.)

The license did have a phony address for the Bunker, basically a mail drop with Harry. The only downside was that the gardener took advantage of Dean’s weakness for pie, meaning a mail run meant more fruity, buttery temptation–not so good for Dean’s waistline. But Sam was mollified by grocery bags filled with in-season, fresh organic vegetables and, in off-season, freezer bags of berries and jars of homemade spaghetti sauce.

“Yeah, yeah, anything you need,” said Dean.

Henry pulled out a fancy cell phone and started to type, copying the license information and presumably contacting the foster family.

Henry looked up at Dean and beamed, having received a quick confirmation from Miriam Knight. The big-hearted woman’s exact words: They will be more than welcome.

“Can you and Sam visit them tomorrow morning? Can meet you there. 10 am okay?”

Dean looked a little nervous.

“This is kinda sudden,” said the Hunter, “And I guess it’s better to let the surprise be that we are getting a dog, not picking out a specific dog for him. Right?”

Henry agreed and started talking excitedly about the proposed adoption. Said if Dean and his husband were going to be in Denver for a couple more days, and the dog he was thinking about was not the right one, he knew half a dozen more to check out. At the least, Sam would enjoy spending time with some great pups, and they could finish the search back home with local animal shelters and rescue groups.

Dean felt control slipping away. He knew it was the right thing to do and would make for a euphoric Sammy, but suddenly a dog, hell, a house plant, felt like a lot of added responsibility.

“Hey,” said Henry, not at all fazed by Dean’s sudden uncertainty. “Did you ever have to raise a kid? A younger brother or sister? Good news: A dog is easier.”

Dean smiled. He was looking forward to telling Sammy that, according to an expert, a dog would have been easier than a bratty little brother. Okay, so he would embellish what Henry said a mite.

Sam walked up to where Dean and Henry were sitting. Most of his pack had dispersed, back to their families or off to make new friends. A couple of pooches trotted along with him, got some last pets, and wandered away.

Trio reunited with Henry. His gait, compensating for the missing leg, was bumpy and uneven, more noticeable when he was hobbling slowly, but it was obvious Trio didn’t care.

Dean introduced Henry, and Sam made sure that Trio knew he was **The Best Dog in the World.** Trio beat his tail against Henry’s leg in agreement.

Sam said good-bye and walked over to the Impala to pull a towel and a bottle of water from the trunk. He was sweaty and smelly and so beautiful, thought his besotted husband.

Sam looked back wistfully at the joyful dog and human.

Dean caught Henry’s eye and smiled. They exchanged information via cell phone, and Henry sent him the address of the Knights’ property for the morning rendezvous.

Henry shamelessly stared at Sam as the tall Hunter guzzled the water. The long run had made his skin glow and given that he was wearing running shorts and a tight tank top, there was a lot of skin.

“Your husband doesn’t by any chance have an older brother?” asked the accountant.


	3. Meet and Greet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam visit the Knight family and make new friends.

That night, back at the hotel, the Winchesters, brother and brother, husband and husband, sat together at the edge of their pillow-top, California King-sized bed. Room service left the cart, and they watched the sun set over the Rockies. while hand-feeding each other gooey goodness off of a platter of nachos: organic blue corn chips layered with three kinds of melted cheese and slow-cooked brisket and onions, smothered in green chili with side dishes of chopped tomatoes, black olives, and sour cream. Simultaneously satisfying Dean’s need for junk food and Sam’s desire for a modicum of healthy.

Washed down with ice cold _Dos Equus ._ Dessert: A Palisades Peach pecan pie with five little candles, the kind you stick in a kid’s birthday cake. They blew them out together. And ice cream, some hippie brand made with coconut milk, which Dean would never admit was perfect with the pie.

“So, Sammy,” said Dean, waiting for his boy to finish his third beer. Putting the younger man in a “happy mood”, meaning a happy mood while they both still had clothes on.

Dean lied. Again. Not even a gnat-sized falsehood, given the many monstrous fibs Dean and Sam had told each other over the years.

“That Henry guy from today is some kind of important dog whisperer or something. Anyway, he was impressed with how you were with your running buddies at the park. And you being so good with his tripod.

“So, he knows this family who cares for dogs until they can be adopted, and they have a dog who needs a romp and a long run. Before we go back home, he wondered if we could stop over and visit the dog. I know it sounds weird, like an interspecies play date. He says the more the dog socializes with different people, the more likely that it will get adopted. The family can meet us at 10 am, and their place is only about 15 minutes away. What do you say?”

“Dean, he was like checking us both out, like bigtime. Do you think he has an ulterior motive?”

“He did ask if you had an older brother.” Dean smirked.

Sam carefully put down his bottle of beer and tackled his soulmate, pinning him down on the bed.

“I do,” said Sam. “And, he is awesome. But I don’t plan to share."

\-----

Henry met them in the driveway and waved the Impala over to the edge of the road. Greeted the Winchesters and brought them inside to meet the Knights and the dog in question, name of Val.

He left Trio at his Mom’s house, because Val could be a little overwhelming for a three-legged dog.

“It’s fine. She likes him better than me,” said Henry. “Puts photos of her grandpuppy up on the staff room bulletin board at her job at our library.”

But first, the Grand Tour.

The Knight family lived in a sprawling ranch-style home with multiple bedrooms and a huge kitchen with an attached dining room and living room aka the Commons. It was the center of a property that included a hay barn, several fenced corrals, a fenced-in backyard, and a menagerie of animals and young’uns. Turned out that Eric and Miriam Knight fostered dogs, cats, small farm animals such as goats and geese, plus their own flock of feisty chickens, two placid milk cows, and a tribe of children.

“The family business,” said Eric, waving at the organized chaos.

The half-dozen fosters were older kids, the ones most agencies label as unadoptable. One of the teenage girls was seated at the long dining room table typing at an older model computer. She was smart and motivated, Miriam whispered, looking for early admission into a state university. Two boys, who might have been brothers, appeared to be making lunch–sandwiches and soup–and cleaning up the kitchen and common areas. Three girls were feeding the outdoor livestock, filling dishes and troughs, talking to each animal as they moved around the yard.

One large room, which originally had been two separate bedrooms until the adjoining wall was knocked down, was devoted to the Knight family’s work as wildlife rehabilitators; Eric and wife Miriam were two of the few in the region certified for smaller mammals.

Through a sliding door and attached to the house was a flight cage for birds needing to strengthen their wings after recovering from injuries and before being released.

Several adults, volunteers from the community and a couple of interns from a veterinary tech school, were taking care of orphaned baby squirrels and bats, a poisoned raccoon, and a number of cages with birds, mostly recovering from broken wings and concussions. Light classical music spilled out of the rehab ward. Better for the animals, one of the boys in the kitchen told a curious Sam, who wondered how the teens felt about the soundtrack.

Animals don’t care what you look like, if you are shy, speak with a stutter, can’t read, or if your clothes aren’t the latest fashion. And they don’t care where you came from.

The Winchesters learned that all of the young people had emotional and physical scars that were being healed in part by what some people think is the best medicine: meaningful work, mutual unconditional love, physical safety, and regular meals.

Later, Sam and Dean would hear from Henry that most of the kids and the animals would end up as what are affectionately known as “foster fails”.

The human children would be adopted by the Knights even though they would soon out on their own. Meant the world to them to have people they could call family and a home. And the animals would live out their lives in peace.

To the Winchesters, remembering their own fractured childhood, the Knight family zoo looked like a better version of Heaven.

“Val’s out back. Likes the sun,” said Miriam.

She escorted the men through the kitchen and the door into the yard and pointed in the general direction of what looked like a pile of old-fashioned square hay bales, wedged against a fence. Someone had thrown a shaggy brown rug over them, creating an ideal spot for soaking up rays. Several kittens and puppies were sleeping together in cozy clutches that begged to be snapped and posted online. And at the top of the bales what looked like a border collie mix was curled up. Bigger than the average herder, not quite the right color, looking at the men with both eyes wide open. And suspicious.

The dog stood up, waking the little ones, who toddled off the rug because there were PEOPLE to greet. Sam and Dean found themselves ankle-deep in adorableness. Sam immediately plopped on the ground and was swarmed with ecstatic babies, and, of course, Dean pulled out his phone and snapped a zillion photos to share on various Hunter and Angelic websites. Ash, who apparently is never offline, instantly sent back a string of heart-shaped emojis.

The dog carefully picked its way down to the ground. Did not wag its tail. Just stood on the packed earth next to the fence and stared. Now, Dean and Sam could see the damage. The missing ears, the cropped tail, the scars where the fur would never grow back.

Another hero, thought Dean.

“What happened?” he asked Miriam, who was watching Sam and his new friends with amusement, appreciating the tall Hunter’s gentleness with her young charges.

Henry spoke up.

“Bait dog for a cartel-backed ring in Arizona.”  
  
Henry spit out the words like a curse.

“We never figured out if the poor thing was stolen, bought, or just adopted off a free Craigslist posting. Sat in a cage for days, given as a chew toy for the younger dogs after sessions when they were tortured into meanness. The bastards would tie up the bait dogs, muzzles taped, left in the pen with the frightened, angry fighters-in-training.

“Was one of the few left alive after a police raid. They called in a nonprofit rescue group in their area, which provided several months of medical care and nursing.

“The adoption rate in Colorado cities is high, so shelters and groups from around the United States often will send animals to Front Range rescue organizations. Got several dogs from the same convoy. This one is the last to find a home. Just not very social. So, she ended up with the Knights while the emotional wounds heal.”

Dean and Sam looked at each other, remembering their own encounters with cages. And torture. And the aftermath.

“Val, come here sweetheart,” said Sam, wearing his own puppy-eyed face. Held those big hands out in supplication.

Dean could just melt.

“That’s not Val,” said Henry. “That’s Cindy Lou.”

“Oh dear,” Miriam said. “Did you explain that Val and Cindy Lou are inseparable? He was able to coax her out of her shell. Made her feel safe. He is her best friend and protector. Whoever adopts one, has to take them both. They are a package deal.”

Then Dean remembered. Henry had said nothing about torture. And Val was supposed to be a big dog.

The throw rug stirred. And rose to its feet.

Later Dean would tell the story, over and over, about the first meeting with Val:

“I knew Val wasn’t a Hell Hound, because Hell Hounds are smaller.” Ka-chunk.

Val was the biggest dog either brother had ever seen. His shaggy coat definitely needed a good brushing, but otherwise he looked healthy and content. Floppy ears, because the breeder didn’t have them cropped. A long, long fluffy tail, which they would learn could sweep the map table clear of, well, everything, with one slow-motion wag.

Large, soft, intelligent brown eyes and a dark brown muzzle. Look up the iconic Turkish guard dogs, like the Kangal and Anatolian, and you'll have a pretty good idea of what Val looked like. But, more mastiff with bigger shoulders and a darker, warmer honey color, closer to butterscotch pudding. And bigger. Maybe 180 pounds.

As Dean once said seconds before Sam hogtied him in the dungeon, and not in the fun time way, and left him for an afternoon:

“Gee, Sammy if you were a dog…”

Val picked his way down from what turned out to be a small pile of hay, gave Cindy Lou a sniff and lick, earning a tentative wag of her tail, and he walked towards the humans.

And he was smiling a big dog smile.

He didn’t lumber. Some draft horses are like that, their strength allows them to move a ton of horseflesh smoothly. They float. Val floated.

The other humans in the house were coming out to see what was happening.

Sam carefully removed the puppies that had snuggled themselves under his flannel shirt and over his lap; the kittens were attached to various articles of his clothing with their baby fishhook claws and needed extra attention to safely disengage them.

He knew his height and size could be intimidating, so he rose up on only one knee.

The girls who were feeding the outside animals stepped in and removed the squirmy baby kittens and puppies and took them into the house for a quiet meal and afternoon nap.

The big, sweet doggo and the Hunter with the heart of gold connected, and it was love at first sight.

Val quickened his pace, and Sam reached out with one hand so he could introduce himself.

And Dean stepped up.

“That’s far enough, Grizzly Adams,” said big brother Winchester.

Val stopped and sat down. Cocked his head a la Castiel and waited for further instructions.

“De,” said Sam, knowing that his brother was scared for him. Being torn apart by a pack of Hell Hounds will do that.

“Val is a good dog, aren’t you, boy. A good, good dog. And Val, Dean is a very good man. Is Val his full name?”

Henry and Miriam watched. The teens who stayed outside moved towards their foster parents as a group. Protective.

But Sam was calm, as was Val.

Val leaned forward to sniff the air.

“Valor,” said Miriam. “His name is Valor.”

Meanwhile, Cindy Lou was assessing the situation. She slinked forward in a good imitation of her border collie cousins and positioned herself in front of her massive friend. Her hackles were raised. The message was clear: You wanna hurt my buddy, you’ll have to come through me.

Even while Sam was talking Dean off the cliff, he kept his focus on the big dog, who appeared to be comforting his smaller friend, nuzzling her head.

“Come on, Dean,” said Sam. Held out his hand to his stubborn mate. Dean reached for his brother who gently tugged him down on his one knee.

“I think,” said Sam, addressing the wary dogs, “that Valor is the coolest dog name I have _ever_ heard.”

“And Cindy Lou,” he added, giving his attention to the smaller dog, who seemed to be in a better mood, minute-by-minute, “I think _that’s_ the coolest dog name I have _ever_ heard.”

Sam’s extravagant compliments broke the tension. Henry and Miriam smiled. Val started wagging his tail again. He stood up and began to nudge Cindy Lou forward, as Sam had done with Dean. Her hackles went down, and she edged towards the kneeling Winchesters, one step at a time.

The assembled humans held their collective breaths.

Cindy Lou came close enough that she could smell the bacon and cheese on Dean’s fingers, left over from a glorious post-shower breakfast. And wagged her tail.

That did it for Val. He surged forward into Sam’s waiting arms. Dean and Cindy Lou were ignored while the two overgrown toddlers hugged and wrestled.

Dean and Cindy Lou watched their best friends roll around on the packed earth, while Miriam, Henry, and the rest of the Team Knight cheered, snapping photos and videos.

Maybe Dean and Cindy Lou were feeling a little left out.

So Dean decided to be the adult in their new relationship. Had already figured out that the ginormous dog was Cindy Lou’s big brother, even if he was from a different mother. Knew the protective older bro dynamic better than anyone. Also knew that he and Sammy would be taking two new roommates back to Lebanon, if Miriam and Henry approved of them.

This is what love will do. And those damn wedding rings. Cas must have mojoed them with that Enochian script, so Dean had to do Sam’s bidding. But, could be worse. Could be worse. Loved that boy his whole life even without Angelic interference.

And he couldn’t wait to share the news. Sam still thought they were there to provide Val and Cindy Lou some quality play time.

[Editor Note: Dean is not compelled by the wedding rings, which only have the power to make other people fall in love, if the potential was there. Dean on occasion conveniently forgot that he has been running in circles for Sam since he held him the first day home from the hospital.]

Dean stayed down on one knee, his hand still held out and smelling delicious. Cindy Lou still wasn't sure what was going on. He knew how she felt

Dean turned on his “drop your Wranglers” voice, the one that worked reliably for women, men, Angels, Demons, and several unidentified species. Why not a dog? Not like Dean didn’t have some experience getting in touch with his inner canine.  
  
“So, pretty lady,” he said to the suspicious border mix. Got her attention.

Sam was too busy playing “Doggie Mixed Martial Arts” with Valor, who felt obliged to mock growl as Sam pretended to chew on his ear.

Henry swooned, a little, at the “Voice”.

Miriam put on that annoying, “wise woman” look that humans acquire with age. Objectively, she could recognize the appeal of both Winchester men and had noticed Henry’s interest in the couple. She also knew what a true soul bond looked like. Having found the love of her life forty years before at a Quaker meeting, she was sympathetic, but immune.

Dean began his courtship of Cindy Lou.

“I get that you have had a hard life, and sweetheart, me and my boy Sammy, we get you. Better than you think. We know about evil and living nightmares and cages. And what it means to hurt, like really hurt, in a way that most civilians never know. So, here’s the deal. You and me, girlfriend, what say we work together, looking after our mammoth BFFS, and kick some ass. Live in Kansas with us, not that much different from Colorado, except we have more sky and fewer mountains.”

Sam and Val halted their war games and started paying attention to Dean’s conversation with the battered dog. Sam was looking confused. Thought this was a one-night-stand, in a manner of speaking. He gave up long ago thinking that Dean would agree to a dog. What’s going on?

Dean took charge.  
  
“Sammy, you take Valor and Cindy Lou over to meet Baby. Meanwhile, the adults need to talk.”

Sam was too surprised to argue. He scrambled to his feet and clucked at his playmate. Val stood up and followed him to the driveway, Cindy Lou in their wake, both dogs slowly wagging their tails.

Dean turned to Henry and Miriam.

“We’ll take them both. What do you need?”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eric Knight was a 20th century writer, raised by Quaker parents, best known for his famous work, Lassie Come Home.
> 
> For years we brought our wildlife rescues to the home of a Quaker woman who also fostered children. A memorial to her work.


	4. The Winchester Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are revealed, and Henry rethinks the adoption.

Apparently, Baby had approved of the dogs and vice versa. Sam, however, still was in shock when he returned to the house.

“Dean,” he said. Stopped. His brain to mouth pathways were not working. Take a breath. Reboot.

“Dean, are you saying we are getting a dog? Really?”  
  
The 6-foot, 5-inch tall former Boy King of Hell looked like the six-year old that begged Dean for a dog long ago, but this time, Dean said yes.

“Decided you were grown-up enough, but remember, you walk them, you feed them, you’re on crap patrol. And by the way, happy anniversary. Thing is, Sammy, Cindy Lou and Val are a matched set. Two dogs, okay?”

The hug Sam gave Dean would have cracked the ribs of a lesser man.

And, yes, those were manly tears.

\-----

During the visit, Miriam’s husband Eric had stayed on the sidelines, watching without comment. A bearded, grey-haired man with dark blue eyes and the ramrod posture of a military officer. Turned out that his day job had been that of firefighter and EMT before he retired, which gave him the time to relieve Miriam as head of household when she needed a break. And the income from a healthy pension to keep the lights on.

During the last hour of the dog drama, Eric Knight had asked the fosters to finish their chores and homework and take their lunches into their rooms. He shooed the wildlife rehabilitation volunteers out the door. The next shift would arrive around 2 pm.

Said he wanted to give the Winchester couple, Miriam, Henry, and himself some space.

Eric then made his rounds of the property and the rehab room. Everything was peaceful in the backyard, and the wildlife patients were napping after lunch.

\-----

Around one end of the dining room table, over sandwiches, soup, and black coffee, Sam and Dean sealed the deal. The dogs lay on the floor nearby. Valor was doing his 1960s shag rug imitation, and Cindy Lou was snuggled in. Both dogs snored in counterpoint. Too cute.

There were forms to fill out, a nonrefundable fee for conducting the background checks, the actual adoption fee, and the reference checks, which were apparently a big deal. But, after spoofing FBI identities for decades, Dean was not concerned. And Ash, Frank, and Charlie had created airtight backstories that the NSA couldn’t have busted.

\-----

Henry was impressed when Sam morphed into _Stanford Pre-Law Genius._ Read through the documents, made some useful editing suggestions, and, in his neat college-era, note-keeping handwriting, filled out the forms with no hesitation.

The online financial check was easy-peasy for the accountant. Henry’s eyebrows went up when he saw their Ash-crafted financial history, assets, and credit scores, but the truth was that selling off, bit by bit, the infinite supply of civilian-safe artifacts and books from the Bunker had put Sam and Dean in a comfortable middle-class tax bracket, if they ever decided to pay taxes.

(They figured decades of uncompensated law enforcement work plus the multiple times they died more than balanced out what they might owe the IRS and various state agencies. But they cheerfully paid taxes to Smith County and the town of Lebanon to keep the roads paved and the power plant running.)

Sam and Dean conferred on references. Dean talked. Sam took notes. Bobby, of course, and Jody and Donna. Doesn’t hurt to have law enforcement on your side. When Sam mentioned Garth, Dean covered a laugh with a cough. Explained to Miriam, Henry, and Eric that good buddy Garth had a special affinity for dogs. Harry Corbin, of course, and several outstanding Lebanon citizens.

They didn’t have a veterinarian as yet, but there was a good clinic in Lebanon that served house pets and the large animal needs of the greater farming and ranching community. Had a feeling that the vets would delight in both Valor and his grumpy sidekick.

The Winchesters agreed to stay on another day, so they could get some Valor and Cindy Lou 101 and outfit Baby for the ride home.

Valor was the epitome of the “gentle giant”. Whatever the humans and animals around him wanted to do was fine with him. Like long walks, long naps, and…hanging out. Loved physical play, and he and Sam already had invented a half dozen games: _Bad Dog, Bad Human, Warrior Prince, Get the Tail, Get the Paw,_ and _Don’t Lick My Face._

And, grooming. His weatherproof coat was thick and long and needed daily attention. (Dean decided to check in with Garth for a grooming spell.) Miriam said that some people had created a mini-industry out of brushing dogs like Val for their hair and turning it into yarn.

Cindy Lou still was shy and preferred to spend most of her time with Val. But she did love to run. In time, her border collie genetics would overcome past trauma. She would trust more people. She also was wicked smart, so she would need challenges, and she would want to work and play hard.

“Just like my Sammy,” said Dean, and his Sammy bopped him on the head with a book on general dog care that Eric had dug out of an overflowing bookcase.

While they talked, Sammy was texting Harry about the dogs and what they might need. Harry was all in, offered to dog sit as needed, and already made a list of local purchases to be delivered to his store, awaiting their return.

\-----

Eric had been listening. No hostility in his voice or manner, But, he didn’t smile, and those blue eyes were cold. And he was very, very polite.

And then it came. More often than not, these days. The downside of having a distinctive car. And how many years on the road in small towns, mostly in the Heartland did it take before people started to compare notes. And remember.

“I know who you are. But I thought you were brothers.”

Henry and Miriam looked up in unison.

Dean bit his lip. They both had the response memorized. They practiced this. Over and over. Had to keep from making it sound robotic. Stay loose, casual.

The Hunters didn’t bother to pretend to not know what Eric meant.

They would deal with the brother/husband issue first.  
  
Sam spoke. His turn.

“Dean’s parents adopted me when I was a baby. After his mom died in a fire, his dad took us on the road with him. I was his second son. Never had a real home for many years. We were raised together, and then I went off to college. When I came back, we partnered up for work, and after a time, we developed feelings for each other. It was easier, given the homophobes, to offer the motel clerks a plausible story, at least at first. Regarding our work, we had so many aliases and were under cover for months at a time, so our colleagues lost track of who we were and our relationship. Assumed we were a couple.

“A few years ago, we stopped caring what other people thought. Got married. Many of the people who knew us as kids were gone, and the rest, they don’t give a darn.”

Not really a lie.

Henry nodded, as if confirming something he already knew.

“What do you mean, dear? You know the Winchesters?” Miriam asked.

Eric responded.

“Recognized the Impala, first. Can’t believe it’s still running. And these guys haven’t changed much in 15 years. They were little more than boys at the time, I reckon.”

Dean and Sam were quiet. It was best that they listen first.

“Remember, sweetheart, when I went down to western Oklahoma in 2005 for a month to supervise a group of volunteer firefighters and provide EMT back-up? When the more seasoned pros in the area had headed out to the southeastern part of the state and joined up with the crews fighting those big wildfires late in the year?

“Local sheriff’s department thought they found evidence that a gang of drug dealers had moved into an abandoned barn on a bankrupt property. Didn’t know what they would find so called up for an ambulance from the fire station as back-up, meaning me and a couple of trained volunteers.  
  
“You boys were at the interdepartmental meeting at the sheriff’s offices that morning. I was in the back, head down, filling out some forms. Don’t think you saw me.  
  
“You were introduced to the group as DEA investigators earlier in the day back at the sheriff’s offices. Looked awfully young. But you had the right IDs, and your boss at the number you gave vouched for you.

“Yeah,” muttered Dean. “That would be Bobby.”

Eric kept talking.

“And I was already in my rig when I drove out to check on the barn with our makeshift posse. Noticed the two of you leaning against your Impala, talking to each other. But I never got out of the ambulance, so you never saw me.”

“Then that little drug dog, the beagle, ran off, and the cops decided it was a meth house. Seemed to be locked up tight. Didn’t have the right equipment or enough people, so we all decided to put it off until the next day, and we snuck off.

“But I was nosy. Thought I could do a little recognizance, gather up some intel, and be a hero.  Just like in the movies. Maybe get a promotion and more money. Also, there was some concern that some of the teenagers in town might be buying drugs there. Wanted to document their comings and goings.”

Miriam was mesmerized. It was obvious that she had never heard this story before. Dean wondered if Eric had ever told anyone.

“Waited until after dark. I drove to the farm on a friend’s motorcycle. Parked it a mile away from the barn and walked through the overgrown fields, keeping in the shadows next to the scrub trees by the fences. Had a digital camera with me. And a first aid kit, in case. Forgot my cell phone. Just as well.

“The barn was lit up inside. There were voices and music. Laughter. I sat in the shadows of a small stand of redbuds. Made sure that if someone came outside and shined a flashlight on the trees, I would be hidden.

“But, then you were there, both of you.I heard the car, rumbling down the road to the farmhouse and the outbuildings. You cut out the engine and glided into the barnyard silently, and you got out of the car.

“You both went around back and opened the trunk. I remember thinking at the time that you must have WD-40’d the heck out the hinges–not a sound.

“And then you pulled out shotguns. And two machetes. And what looked like two large gas cans.”

Miriam and Henry turned in their seats to stare at Dean and Sam. Sam studied the papers in front of him. Dean seemed to think that the knuckles of his right hand needed his full attention.

Eric continued.

“Frankly, I was scared. Not armed. Guns were not part of my job. I saved people. And, for a minute, I was not sure who the good guys were.

“I could see what was going on from the light leaking out of the building. You two crept up to the barn and put the cans on the ground. Nodded to each other, cocked the guns, and went in blazing, just like John Wayne and Clint Eastwood. I hated it. And I loved it, you know. Prayed that you were the good guys.

“Lots of yelling and screaming. Made me sick to my stomach. Only lasted a few minutes. And then the doors of the barn burst open and two people ran out. Except, they weren’t people.”

Eric paused

“What were they?” he asked, his question for the Winchesters. Required an answer.

“Vampires,” said Sam.

Dean nodded in confirmation. Kept staring down at those pesky knuckles.

“Oh, right, vampires,” said Eric. “Thought so. Did some research later. Wasn’t sure.”

His matter-of-fact tone impressed Dean and Sam. Reassured Miriam. Scared Henry. It was the same tone Eric would use in a police interview or a courtroom, describing the scene of a fire or an accident. Just the facts, ma’am.

“So, the vampires ran out, and you two chased them down. Didn’t know until that moment if you were dead or alive.

“You cut off their heads with the machetes. Dragged the pieces back into the barn. Set the fire and took off in the black car.”

Silence.

Miriam stood up and walked over to her husband who was staring into space. She put her arms around him and hugged him. Stepped back but stayed in his space. Probably decided her husband needed some morale support. And, as typical of most spouses in good marriages, was more concerned about his well-being than the details of his outlandish story.

Henry felt like he had walked into the wrong movie set. Wasn’t what he expected when he woke up that morning. Looking forward to finding a home for Valor and Cindy Lou. And always a fine day when he had an excuse to visit the Knight family and check on their brood. Was healing to experience unadulterated kindness and goodwill manifested in an old house filled with love. Always left in a better mood, regardless of what else might be happening the world.

Henry liked the Winchesters. Maybe a little bit jealous of the happiness Dean and Sam had found. Pretty obvious, given how they looked at each other.  The sun and the moon and the stars. And something more. A special connection.

But now, Henry felt blindsided by some cock-and-bull story about vampires and beheadings in rural Oklahoma. On the other hand, Henry had known Eric and Miriam for many years. Salt of the earth. Personified integrity and honor. Both of the Knights made the accountant think seriously about returning to the Methodist church of his childhood. They definitely were what people would call “good”, without irony or sarcasm.

Meanwhile, the Winchesters could not look anyone in the room in the eye.

Eric cleared his throat. Made a motion to Miriam, and she trotted into the kitchen and brought back a glass of water. Everyone waited until he drank, as if he was a speaker on the agenda at a conference. Being polite. Digesting what he had said so far.

“I threw up, then, I ran back to the motorcycle. And drove back to town. Went to my motel room, dumped the clothes I was wearing into a laundry bag, took a long shower, scrubbed off the smell of charred wood and flesh (not the first time in my line of work), got dressed in clean jeans and a t-shirt, and then drank down a bottle of ginger ale I had in the little room fridge. My adult beverage of choice. Lay down and stared at the ceiling until dawn, waiting for the inevitable call, which came around 5 am.

"Everyone was ordered on deck. I drove the ambulance to the site, knowing what we would find.

“The bodies were pieces of charcoal. Nothing to identify and little motivation to do much more, particularly in a tight budget year short of manpower.

“Local law enforcement and the forensic specialists loaned to us from Oklahoma City decided it was a meth lab explosion.

“I agreed and signed off on the report.

“I even chipped in for a reward for the K-9 officer that alerted us to trouble. Realize now that it wasn’t the smell of bad science that spooked the beagle. It was those creatures, asleep in the barn.

“Back at the sheriff’s offices, discovered that the two DEA investigators were long gone. And when a puzzled official in DC said she had no idea who we were talking about, we all figured they were deep undercover.

“The big fires in the southeast were put out, and I came home to Denver.

“Like I said, I did some research. Confidential calls to old friends who owed me big time.

“Learned about the monsters that live in our world and the people who kill them.  
  
“And then I had names to put with your faces in that barnyard. Dean and Sam Winchester. Supernatural Hunters. These boys are famous. Just wanted you to know the whole story, Henry. Miriam. Maybe they have something to say to you.”

“Wait a minute,” said the accountant. Sounded confused and sort of pissed off.

“Is this a joke, Eric? Vampires? Vampire killers? Some prank you thought up? Dean told me that Sam and he were special law enforcement, maybe like FBI or U.S. Marshalls or something. Not the X-Files. Please. If you are telling the truth, sounds like arson to me. And murder.

"Or are you both lying?"

Henry stood up and started pacing across the dining room, back and forth as he vented.

“Supernatural Hunters? Eric, that’s…you’re talking about a stupid rural legend. Campfire talk. People dress up like them at Halloween! Vampires aren’t real, and vampire slayers aren’t real. Midwest folk tales. Dean and Sam are brutal and dangerous men, that’s what you saying?  Excuse me, Miriam, Eric, but if that’s the case I’ll be damned to Hell before I let these men take any dog of ours, let alone Valor and a vulnerable soul like Cindy Lou. She needs to feel safe. They both deserve to be safe.”

“Henry,” said Eric. “Why are you so upset?”

The accountant shook his head. Didn’t know why.

“We kill monsters,” said Dean, in the silence that followed Henry’s outburst. “We save people.”

“And, we’ve made mistakes,” added Sam. “I bet you know people in your lines of work, with animal rescue, and wildlife rehabbing, and first responders, who have made mistakes. Cops make mistakes. So do dog handlers in the military. But you would let them have a dog.”  
  
“To be clear,” Eric said, “the people I talked to have a good opinion of Dean and Sam. Dean is kind of rough around the edges, but it’s like he said. They save lives. And I think they will make a good home for Valor and Cindy Lou.”

“And Henry, you’re the one always lecturing people about how dogs are such good judges of character. Never seen Cindy Lou be willing to give a stranger the benefit of the doubt before. And it’s like Sam was made for Val. And vice versa.”

Henry remained unmoved for the next hour. He had tied himself into logical knots. The otherwise rational accountant was upset with the notion that Eric claimed that Sam and Dean were legendary Hunters of mythical monsters and creatures of the night, being that did not exist. And, at the same time, he was determined that these Hunters, who he did not believe existed, would be unsuitable to adopt two of his organization’s rescues. And he hated being lied to.

Mostly, Dean and Sam watched and listened from the gallery. The debate, if it could be called such, was between Henry and Eric, with Miriam and the Winchesters as witnesses. Dean and Sam responded succinctly to direct questions, otherwise, they kept quiet.

The dogs woke up. Sam hustled them outside and closed the door. He sat down next to Dean and held his hand.

Eric was stoic, but Henry’s ranting reminded the observers of one of those crazy, circular arguments that only people who love each other, spouse versus child versus sibling, get caught up in. For Sam and Dean, it was a replay of Sam’s epic battles with their father John. For Miriam, it reminded her of childhood holiday dinners, where relatives battled each other over politics, religion, and the name of a beloved pet cat, long since gone over the Rainbow Bridge.

“Okay, okay,” said Henry. “This is all nuts. But prove it. Prove you are these mythical Hunters, not just, I don’t know, like those television bounty hunters, just jerks being jerks, and I’ll okay the adoption. And it’s up to me, not the Knights.”

Miriam looked indignant. She made a point of moving her chair closer to Dean and Sam in silent solidarity. She had no idea what was going on, except she always trusted her husband Eric and never regretted it.

Eric? He had given witness to what he knew. Now, it was up to Henry and the boys.

Dean rolled his eyes.  
  
“So, we have to pass a test? Son of a bitch…oh, excuse me, ma’am, sir. Do we get points off for cursing? Don’t know many Quakers. Sorry.”

Dean wasn’t kidding. Pastor Jim could cuss, in 23 languages, given the right circumstances and, given his innate skills as an Adept, his curses could bring down plagues of locusts. And worse. Literally. A good curse was part of his toolbox.

But this was different. Dean could be thoughtless, but he would never disrespect good people on purpose.

“What proof do you want?” asked Sam, in his best courtroom manner.

Henry was cooling off and feeling a little foolish. But he wouldn’t back down. Instead, he improvised.

“Two things. Show me you are Hunters, and show me something Supernatural.”

“You got it,” said Dean, and he pushed off from the table.

“First, let’s introduce you to Baby.”


	5. Perfect Score

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys prove to Henry that they would make worthy dog parents.

Dean, Sam, Miriam, and Henry went outside to escort the accountant to the Impala. Val and Cindy Lou got up from their sunny spot, stretched, and tagged along, keeping close to the Winchesters. Miriam suspected that even while the humans squabbled, the dogs had decided.

Eric lagged behind and made the rounds of the property, checking in on the wildlife patients, the outside livestock, and the fosters. Who, of course, had been listening to everything going on with the adults in the dining room. He told them that after he, Miriam, and Henry finished their time with the Winchesters, the kids could come out, ask the Winchesters any questions they liked, and, probably say good-bye. He suspected that Henry would not veto the adoption, but there was always a chance that the situation would blow up, leaving sad dogs and sadder Hunters.

\-----

Dean, according to Sam, still got a kick out of conducting the big “Baby Reveal”, showing civilians the tools of the Hunter’s trade hidden in her spacious trunk. He loved playing the Master of Ceremonies.

Baby was alert, having had a good time meeting the potential new members of Team Free Will.

“Baby, this is Miriam and Henry. Wanna show off your treasures.”

Sam rolled his eyes so hard that Miriam was sure that the seismic recorders at the nearby Colorado School of Mines tracked his response.

Nonetheless, Baby obliged. She popped open her trunk, and Dean propped the lid with a handy gun stock. No one mentioned that apparently the car was either managed by a sophisticated artificial intelligence system that responded to verbal commands or was sentient.

Henry didn’t know which conclusion he preferred.

Dean leaned in and pulled up the fake bottom that protected the contents from unauthorized eyes, so her audience could see the whole picture.

“It’s a little messy,” apologized Sam. “Had a big case in Utah before we came to Denver. Planned to unpack and clean up once we got home.”

Eric had joined them, and the Knights and Henry stared. And stared.  
  
“Wow,” said Henry.

Dean and Sam were not sure how the Quakers would respond to the arsenal of guns, knives, spears, and yep, the two his-and-his matching machetes. Cardboard boxes of ammunition. Weapons without names. A combat-level first aid kit. Bloody rags. Jars that no one wanted to look at too closely.

But then Miriam and Eric zeroed in on an open wooden box of spiritual artifacts: rosaries and wooden and silver crosses. Bottles and flasks marked as Holy Water and Holy Oil. Medallions on chains with sacred symbols from a half-dozen religions.

“Here,” said Sam. He picked out an ornate silver cross, maybe eight inches long. Spanish, with craftsmanship that had an echo of when the country was part of the Moorish empire. Was adorned with what looked like precious and semi-precious stones.

“This is very good protection, regardless of the potential danger,” he said.

And handed it to Miriam. It felt heavy and warm in her hand. A weapon, she thought, for the Light.

“Please, a gift from us, regardless of Henry’s decision.”  
  
“It looks priceless,” said Eric, looking over Miriam’s shoulder.

“What you do,” said Dean, “for the kiddos and the animals. That’s priceless.”

“We’ll show you where and how to hang it,” said Sam.

“What if someone try to steal it?” asked Eric.

“Well, if one of your flock tried to take it, with good intention and love, nothing. If someone tries to take it without permission, well, let’s just say it will be impossible to remove it without taking a piece of the wall with it. Even then, not sure even a master thief could budge it, or the wall. A thief, a human with a corrupted soul and bad intentions, if they persisted, they would be knocked unconscious. If they were not human, it would kill them.”

Eric looked concerned.

Dean laughed.

“You folks have such pure souls, I’m guessing, that it’s improbable any harm would come to you. In fact, artifacts have their own versions of souls, which link to their owners. I think this item would be happy to be in your possession and protect you and yours.”

It ended up in Miriam and Eric's bedroom, where, the Hunters reassured them, it would offer protection for the entire property. Not the usual Quaker display of religious belief, but Sam and Dean convinced them that the cross would work for anyone and was not limited to one interpretation of one version of one Holy Book.

Henry Bennett pouted. So what, they have a trunkful of garage sale junk.

“Okay, Mr. Hunter, you got some crazy army surplus gear here. Let’s see you use it.”

“Dean, would you move the pups to the side?” asked Sam, in his politest voice, just for effect. Dean coaxed the dogs away from Baby and waved the Knights and Henry to stand next to them, a few feet away from Sam.

“We aren’t going to use guns; your property isn’t designed for promiscuous shooting,” said Dean, relishing a chance to reference a quote from one of his favorite Western movies, _Destry Rides Again._

Henry sniffed.

“Which guns would you use, if it were safe?” the accountant asked, but channeling his inner Mean Girl snotty voice.

The brothers looked at each other, nodded, and the Colt and the Taurus simultaneously materialized from under the back of those layered flannel shirts into their hands, aimed at the ground away from the dogs and the civilians.

“You boys are showing off,” chastised Miriam, and they grinned sheepishly.

“Yes ma’am,” they said. A seamless duet.

“You boys are showing off, again,” said Miriam. Had trouble keeping a straight face. Between Sam’s dimples and Dean’s smile, she felt like a girl of 16.

The guns disappeared under their clothing. Sam reached into Baby’s trunk and brought out what looked like a tube of cloth tied with cord. Walked around to the Impala’s front end and unrolled it on her hood. Turned out to be a fine piece of chamois, wrapped around a set of scary-looking knives with handles carved from some kind of ivory.

“We are both fair with a gun,” said Dean. “Sam’s the one who’s best at scamming chumps at roadhouse dart games and carving up the Thanksgiving turkey.”

“Here, De,” said Sam. “Warm these up.”

He handed his brother a half dozen blades and pointed to the top of a fence post next to an empty field, across the road from Knight’s property. Fifty yards away, maybe more?

“Make me a target. On the count of one…”

The blades disappeared from Dean's hand, then reappeared stuck deep in the post, evenly spaced in a circle.   
  
“Sammy,” said Dean, and took a little bow.

Sammy grinned. Didn’t wait for the count.  
  
When Henry and the Knights crossed the road with the Winchesters to retrieve the blades, the dogs heeling, they collectively were stunned. Sam had neatly inserted his knives in between the ones Dean had thrown first, taking what appeared to be no time to sight the target.

These are the skills you need when you are killing mythological creatures, thought Henry.

The humans and dogs crossed back to the Knights’ driveway. Sam and Dean retrieved the knives, and Sam polished them clean with the chamois before returning them to the Impala’s trunk.

Now what.

“One more thing you asked for,” said Dean. “What would satisfy you regarding the Supernatural? Suppose you think the knife-throwing was not much more than a circus trick”

Henry would have called the demonstrations off at this point, but he was embarrassed. He believed Dean and Sam were legitimate, even if he personally didn’t believe in goblins and ghouls. They had been good-natured, mostly, throughout the discussions, and instinct told him they were good men. Obviously, Valor and Cindy Lou agreed. But they seemed willing to put on a show. And he did not want to lose face with Miriam and Eric.

“Dunno,” said the accountant. “Don’t know anything about monsters and magic.”

Sam stepped up.

“Don’t think it would right to expose you folks to something dangerous. How about Dean and I provide a proof of concept? Just to meet your terms? Then, would you promise to decide the validity of our adoption request based on your existing standards and the merits of our case?”

Dean knew Sammy was feeling desperate if he was resorting to legalese. His little brother was infatuated with 180 pounds of furry canine plus the extra bonus of a sweet and smart companion who needed and deserved their love. And he would do what it takes. That’s what a Winchester did.

So, when Sam said “proof of concept”, Dean knew what it meant. Mary’s Deal, aka Sam’s Demon Blood Curse, left a trace of power on Sam’s soul that all the events of the past could not remove. Like a benign Mark of Cain. Sam mostly dealt with it by ignoring it. Better to pretend it did not exist, except in case of extreme emergency. Dean assumed that Sam thought Henry blocking the adoption counted.

Sam turned to Henry.  
  
“Pick an object in sight. Something that is not attached to the ground.”

Oh no, thought Dean. It was his turn to roll his eyes.

Henry looked around, then waved a hand.

“How about your car? Will it do?”

Dean was not happy when Sam dimpled and nodded.

“Baby, let’s close your trunk, okay?” said Dean, taking the initiative. The trunk closed slowly and softly, as if Baby was now showing off.

“That’s cool,” said Henry. Remote control gadgets were appealing. He was willing to concede defeat, move back to the dining room, and finish the paperwork.

“This…is cooler,” said Sam.

He extended his hand and squinted. There was a whiff of ozone, like before a thunderstorm.

And Baby’s two and a half tons, including the contents of the trunk, floated up, till she rested three feet off the ground.

She didn’t mind. Wanted to do her part.

“Satisfied?” asked Sam, with a note of hostility. His first display of temper.

Henry was bug-eyed. Cindy Lou barked, and Miriam gently shushed her. Mellow Val watched, interested, as did Eric.

“Okay Sammy,” said Dean, and Baby lowered to the ground. 

\-----

The wildlife rehab team showed up for their early afternoon shift and disappeared into the clinic's room. The floodgates opened, and the fosters and Eric and Miriam hit the brothers with a tsunami of questions about hunting and the Supernatural. Valor napped at Sam’s feet, while Cindy Lou leaned against Dean and butted him with her head at intervals, requiring head rubs and pets. At some point, Dean thought, he and Sammy would show the border mix their scars. What heroes wore.

Meanwhile, Henry meticulously verified the references via phone call and text, ran the online background check, plus had a long phone conversation with neighbor Harry Corbin, who seemed to be an intelligent and supportive friend and who seemed to know just about everything about dogs.  Would be there to coach the Winchesters over the tough spots.

It was obvious that Sam and Dean had a powerful network of family and friends, ready to step in as needed. The pups would not be neglected.

The brothers found it difficult to leave the dogs behind as they returned to their hotel, but they needed a good night’s sleep before they went shopping and returned to the Knight’s home in the afternoon to pick up their new roommates and say good-bye. As soon as the door to their hotel suite closed, and they locked up for the night, Sam thanked Dean, enthusiastically, for his anniversary gift. To be honest, thanked him three times. Both men fell into sweet oblivion, wrapped around each other.

So they slept in, had brunch, left lavish tips, and headed out to one of those awesome outdoor camping and hunting megastores, which had its own department devoted to dog gear. Picked up the canvas covers for Baby's seats and Sam's truck's seats and truck bed, fancy-assed dog beds, and, especially for Valor, raised food dishes, a must for a big dog. New collars and leashes, dog food and dog treats for the road, and his and hers doggie water bottles. Some professional grade combs and brushes and an electric trimmer.

Finally, Sam reminded Dean that the drive to Lebanon, a straight shot east on US 36, was less than six hours, and given that Baby was warded against cop radar and Smokies waiting in ambush, more like three. Not that far. And Harry had ordered food and the essentials at his end.

Back to the Knights. Hugs, lots of kisses for Miriam (and a chaste peck on the cheek for Henry from both Winchesters), and pets for the baby kittens and puppies. And the chickens. Etc. More conversation with the fosters around the big dining table over an early dinner of bison green chili stew, served with home grown tomatoes, corn on the cob, and vanilla ice cream. Also, mixed berry pie, when the Knights and their crew learned it was an anniversary. And a bag of dog-friendly peanut butter cookies to go. Okay, two bags.

Once the canvas tarp tucked was in place on the back seat, and the dog paraphernalia was loaded into Baby’s cavernous trunk, it was time for Valor and Cindy Lou to claim their spots. Val lumbered up and stretched out the width of Baby's back bench; the border mix snuggled in and promptly went to sleep, her nose buried in Val’s furry neck. Baby seemed to expand to accommodate both dogs.  
  
Promised to come back and visit.

One final wave, and they were gone.

\-----

Epilogue  
  
The pups settle in. They share the couch on movie nights. Predictably, their beds migrate into the boys’ shared room. And the dogs migrate onto the bed when group snuggling is called for. Also, predictably, being able to exchange unconditional love among the four souls is a healing experience for everyone.  
  
Sometimes the new Team Free Will pile into Baby and find an open field and a starry night. The Angel of the Lord joins them when he can. (Castiel does not mind sitting in the back with the pups; they make it work.) Sometimes they take off together, men and dogs, and run down a long Kansas back road. Now they celebrate two anniversaries every year: the Winchester wedding and the Valor and Cindy Lou adoption.

What else?

A mysterious donor dumps a small fortune into Eric and Miriam’s bank account, tax-free, enough to ensure a happy ever after for another generation of fosters and foster-fails.

Henry Bennett comes to Lebanon and joins the brothers for an easy salt-and-burn. He apologizes for his snarky behavior; admits it stemmed from a classic case of jealousy. All is forgiven.

The three men discuss the dog-fighting ring that was responsible for Cindy Lou’s physical and emotional scars. The brothers learn that the perpetrators were able to escape prosecution.

Although Hunters have rules about not killing humans, Sam and Dean come up with a way to scare the cartel bad guys straight. Henry approves. It involves a wrathful Angel in full battle regalia (Castiel likes dressing up once in a while) and Garth Fitzgerald IV and members of his family paying the dog fight organizers a visit at their headquarters in Arizona. The result: A terrified group of cartel foot soldiers and lieutenants show up en masse at the nearby constabulary, begging to be arrested and given long prison sentences. Local law and order are happy to oblige.

**Author's Note:**

> Denver, where I live, is a very dog-friendly community, partly because of the world-class veterinary school up the road at Ft. Collins and because of all the people who move to Colorado for our outdoor lifestyle.


End file.
